


Pictures of Tantalus

by lumiere42



Series: Under The Surface [4]
Category: All Grown Up!, Hannibal (TV), Rugrats
Genre: Crossover, Eating Disorders, Gen, Mental Health Issues, No Cannibalism, Not Crackfic Either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumiere42/pseuds/lumiere42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the hell is this?  Why would you ever draw me like this?  I don't look like that!"</p><p> Dr. Lecter takes a deep breath, looks down at the drawing, and shakes his head, just a little.  His reply is very soft. "But you do look like that, Angelica."<br/>*******<br/>Angelica does some snooping. Maybe she should have stayed out of her shrink's sketchbook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures of Tantalus

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing copyrighted herein. Homage, no $$$ made.
> 
> Takes place during 1x09 ("Trou Normand") in "Hannibal" timeline.

It's strange being at Dr. Lecter's office in the daytime.  Just her luck, to have a day off school only to have her parents reschedule this week's session for this afternoon.  She'd rather be almost anywhere else, even being dragged along shoe-shopping with Tommy and Dil, which is where Grandpa Lou is taking them while she's here.  Even though shoe shopping with her cousins would involve Tommy trying on eighteen different pairs of sneakers looking for the absolute perfect fit, Dil _talking_ to any shoes he was considering about their sport and shoelace preferences, and Grandpa falling asleep on a bench. Probably not a single pair of kitten heels or ballet flats in sight, either. 

 She leans back on the waiting room sofa. At least nobody had asked about the folder she's carrying on the drive over, though Tommy had kept looking at it kind of strangely.  She didn't want to have to explain the contents.  It's bad enough she has to show it to Dr. Lecter.  _Where is he, anyway?_   She checks her watch: five minutes after the session's start time.

 She waits another five minutes, foot tapping impatiently, but the office door stays closed.  _He better not have forgotten._  

 She opens the office door, cautiously, and slips in.

 Something seems really off about the room. It takes a moment for her to realize: the curtains are all pulled aside, allowing cloudy gray light to seep in through the tall windows.  Long rectangles of light lie parallel across the patterned rugs and dark furniture.  She can see the colors of everything in here much more clearly, and there's a slightly open door in the back wall that she's never noticed before.  The air smells faintly of disinfectant and wood smoke and old, stirred-up dust.

 "Dr. Lecter?"

 Silence.

  _I'll give him a little while longer, and then I'm calling Grandpa._

 The desk lamp is on, shedding a pool of yellow light.  She pulls out the chair, with a slight clatter that seems loud in the quiet, and sits down.  Polished wood, jar of pens, blotter - and on the desktop's right side, the sketchbook.

 She looks around quickly - silence, emptiness - then slides it over in front of her and opens it.

 The drawings inside are in pencil, lines delicate and intricate, everything very detailed.  They start with buildings: a long, low, many-windowed and turreted building surrounded by trees; a vine-smothered cathedral with broken windows and a crumbling steeple.  Her eyebrows go up.  She doesn't know much about art, but she knows enough to say that, if Dr. Lecter drew these, he's _seriously_ talented. 

 She pages past a few more drawings of places: boats in a harbor, an overgrown graveyard.  The next one is a person, a little girl of about five, standing waist-deep in meadow grass and flowers.  She's looking up at the sky with big eyes and a round-cheeked grin.  There's a name in the bottom corner: _Mischa_.

 The next page: an older, dark-haired girl, almost grown-up, wearing camouflage and a bright red scarf around her neck.  She's standing in a forest clearing, one hand on the head of an antlered deer and the other holding a gun, and - yargh - a dead fawn at her feet.  There's a name here, too, _Abigail_.

 She recognizes the man in the drawing after that.  It's the Couch Sleeper Guy.  He's sitting at Dr. Lecter's desk, right where she is now, his hair and clothes a rumpled mess and his face shadowed and downcast.  He has wings here, half-unfolded behind him, and his open hands have dark stains on them.  The label of this one is down the right margin: _Will - Ange d'Mort_. 

  _He's calling a patient "Angel of Death"? Okay, this is...kinda weird._   She turns the page, glances, then stares.

 It's a girl in rags, standing knee-deep in a woodland pond.  There's an apple tree and an orange tree on the shore on either side of her, fruit-heavy branches leaning low over the water.  The girl's arms are stretched out, her head tilted back with a frantic, pleading look on her face, her hands just falling short of the fruit.  Every bone in her arms and shoulders is visible, her fingers like sticks, her eyes huge and hollow and her cheekbones too prominent. 

 Dr. Lecter has labeled this one, too: _Angelica - Tantalus._

 She goes completely still, her mouth open, staring at this girl who's most definitely _not_ her, she can't be, and then the faintest stirring in the air before a hand falls on her shoulder. 

 She jumps, cries out, and whirls around in the chair.  It's Dr. Lecter, very still, his black suit making him look mostly shadowy.  She can see his face clearly, though, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line.

 "Mademoiselle Pickles."  His voice is flat and stern.  "What are you doing?"

 She blinks, heart pounding, head light.  "I - um - "

 "That book _is_ my personal property."

 "Yeah?"  She stands up, head swimming briefly.  "Well, uh, how come you're leaving it where patients can get hold of it, anyway?  Maybe I just needed some notepaper, ever think of _that_?  And what - " she grabs the book, still open to the not-her drawing, and shakes it at him - "what the hell is _this_?  Why would you ever draw me like this?  I don't look like that!"

 Dr. Lecter takes a deep breath, looks down at the drawing, and shakes his head, just a little.  His reply is very soft. "But you _do_ look like that, Angelica."

 "No, I don't!  Whaddaya think I am, stupid?"

 "A distorted image of one's own appearance is almost a given for people with your particular issue - "

 " _Stop!_ "  She slams the book down on the desk and shoves past him, walking around to the desk's other side. "Just stop with the goddamn shrink talk and quit _lying_ to me!"

 "I have no reason to lie to you, Angelica."  Dr. Lecter puts his hands on the desk and leans forward.  "I never intended for anyone to see those drawings.  Therefore, why would I draw you with that appearance, unless it was accurate?"

 She sighs and looks down at the carpet.  "Are you mad at me?"

 "If I didn't wish others to see that book, I should have put it away.  If not you, it would have been too much of a temptation to some other client, eventually."  He puts the sketchbook in the center desk drawer, then walks past her to take his usual chair.  "I am, regrettably, out of tea."

 "That's okay."

 "Come. Sit down.  You have seen my collection of pictures.  I believe you have your own collection to show me. There are, however, a few items requiring discussion first."

 She folds herself up in the other chair, shoes on the upholstery again, folder in her lap.  "What?"

 "I finished reviewing your medical records.  Have you seen them?"

 "No.  My parents wouldn't let me.  They thought it might be too upsetting, or something."

 "You should be aware of the details."  Dr. Lecter folds his hands in his lap and looks at her, gaze level and calm. "In addition to the esophageal rupture and subsquesent lung damage, you had an irregular heartbeat, severely unbalanced electrolytes, anemia and several other vitamin deficiencies, the beginnings of osteoporosis, and an ulcerated esophagus and stomach.  Some of those symptoms improved immediately after you entered hospital treatment; some will take more time to resolve. While it's not Dr. Baumann's field, she noted you almost certainly have dental damage as well."

 "Yeah. They said I'll need at least two root canals, once they decide I'm _healthy_ enough for it.  They don't wanna give me sedation right now."

 "Going under heavy sedation or any type of anesthesia would be dangerous for someone of your low weight."

 "That's in the records, right? My weight? Any chance you'll tell me what it is now?"

 "Absolutely none." 

 "Damn."

 Dr. Lecter smiles, faintly.  "There are ways you can find out if you are sufficiently determined, but I strongly recommend you not try."

 She thinks of the tape measure hidden behind her desk.  Her parents took her scale away, but maybe she doesn't need it as long as she can keep measuring, to see if she's growing _out_ too much. "I guess not."

 "Dr. Baumann gave you an official ED-NOS diagnosis, which I agree with."

 "ED-NOS?"

 "It stands for 'Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified'. Meaning that you have an eating disorder, but it doesn't meet the exact specifications for either anorexia or bulimia.  That is _not_ , by the way, an invitation to _try_ qualifying for one or the other."

 She nods.

 "The other issue: Dr. Baumann's office misunderstood my request.  Instead of sending only the records relevant to your recent troubles, they sent everything.  She's been your physician since you were three.  You had two pediatricians before that. Their records were transferred to Dr. Baumann's files years ago. When studying them, I found something odd."

 "Yeah?"

 "Both your original pediatricians noted that you were underweight for a child of your age.  You were low on the height chart as well.  You didn't reach the normal height and weight range until well into your third year.  The records don't say why.  Do you know? Did you have any eating or digestive problems?"

 "Not that I know of.  Why would it matter?"

 "Childhood experiences with food and eating can shape one's later attitudes. If you had a medical problem and began associating eating with being sick, it might have affected you."

 "No. I'm sure I'd remember.  I can ask my family, if you want."  She smiles widely and sneaks a peek at her watch.  Maybe she can stall long enough that they won't get to...

 "Good.  Now. Regarding that folder."  Dr. Lecter leans forward.

  _Oh well._   She sighs and hands him the folder.

 "I assume these are pictures you have collected to...further encourage your own weight loss."  It's a three-prong folder.  She'd punched holes in the pictures to clip them in. He opens it and starts leafing through, slowly.

 "The people on the Internet call it thinspiration."

 "Hm. That word is an amusing portmanteau.  Its effects, of course, not so amusing. You obtained most of these from fashion magazines, I take it. Are you aware of the ludicrous amount of alteration done on most magazine photos?"

 "Everybody says that."

 "Everything from hair to skin tone to - especially - body shape is often changed significantly from the original. Your particular collection appears riddled with such falsities. Observe."  He holds the open folder up.  It's the picture of the woman in the red bikini, reclining on a ship's deck. "For her waist to be that narrow, she would have to be missing some ribs.  Her hips are shrunken smaller than her head, which is a biological impossibility."

 She stares.  She really hates admitting this, but he's right. "I guess."

 "There are only two or three possibly realistic pictures here - the gymnasts.  _They_ may actually look like that.  Of course, they quite literally devote their lives to strenuous exercise, and gymnastics is a sport with a very high eating disorder rate."

 "Really?"

 "Unfortunately." Dr. Lecter's reached the last page. "Now, _this_ \- this is a very interesting image for you to choose." He detaches it from the folder and holds it up.  It's the girl with long blond hair and big blue eyes, the girl she could look like if she just tried hard enough, lying on a banquet table in a gauzy white dress.  There's a big wicker horn above her head, with baguettes and cucumbers and corn positioned around her like they've spilled out of it.

 "That's my favorite."

 "Because she resembles you somewhat?"

 She's blushing now. "Yeah.  And the food is kind of cool, I thought."

 "The photographer may have found it ironic to surround a clearly underweight model with an entire spilt cornucopia.  Whoever thought of this arrangement also seems to have been in an especially Freudian frame of mind."

 "What's Freudian?"

 Dr. Lecter starts to say something, then stops. "Psychiatry in-joke.  Never mind, I doubt it's relevant to your situation. What you should know is that it's impossible for you, or anyone, to ever really look like any of these pictures and still be healthy and whole."

 "I'm whole! What, I'm not a complete person just because - "

 "I meant that in another sense. Your physical self has been broken to a certain extent, but your spirit has been broken as well."

 "Nothing's _breaking_ me except _looking like this!_ Don't you _get_ that?"

 Dr. Lecter puts the pictures aside and stands.  "Come with me."  He extends a hand, and she takes it, dubiously.  He leads her across the room, to the back wall.

 There's a mirror here, mounted next to that door. Dr. Lecter maneuvers her in front of it and stands behind her.  It's long enough to show their reflections down to her waist. She looks away.

 Dr. Lecter's hands settle lightly on her shoulders. "Look, and tell me: what do you see?"

 She looks up, into the glass. Dr. Lecter fades into the background in his dark clothes, but she can see his face above her head and the pale blurs of his hands on her.  And herself -

 "What do I see?"  Her voice wavers. _Don't let me cry._ "I'm still too fat, I don't care what anyone says. My face is puffy, and - and I'm blowing up like a whale. Also my skin is bad and my hair needs work." She glares at his reflection.  "What do _you_ see, huh?"

 His hands tighten slightly on her shoulders. His voice, low:  "I see a lovely young girl who is also very ill." 

 "So I'm nuts?"

 " _You_ are not irrational. Your perception of yourself is.  That's what we're here to work on."

 Clock chimes. _Thank God._

 Dr. Lecter goes back over to the chairs, and she follows and sits back down.  He takes her folder and goes over to the desk, back turned.  The sound of paper tearing. 

 "I will keep these pictures for now."  She can see that he's writing something.  "There is nothing stopping you from collecting more, of course.  If you do, I hope you consider what we discussed in the process." He comes back over and hands her another folded note.

 "What's Tantalus?  It was on my picture."

 "It's a Greek myth.  Tantalus killed his young son, made him into stew, and served him to the gods.  The gods punished him by condemning him to stand in that pool, with those trees near.  Every time he tried to eat or drink, the water and the trees would shrink just out of reach.  He was doomed to starve in the midst of plenty for all eternity."

 "Oh."  She's not sure that explains anything. "One more thing. Do you always draw your patients?"

 Dr. Lecter smiles.  "Only the ones I find most interesting."

 She heads out into the waiting room, closing the office door behind her.  She pauses at the top of the stairs, thinking to read the note.  Then a moving blur smacks into her and bumps her against the wall.

 "Hey!"  She just manages to grab the railing, and looks up.  It's the Couch Sleeper Guy, swathed in a heavy green jacket, face pale and panicked.  He reaches out a gloved hand, then drops it back to his side.

 "Is..Dr. Lecter here?" His voice is shaky and his eyes keep darting around.

 "Yeah.  Hey, are you okay?" 

 He doesn't seem to hear her.  He stumbles through the door and across the waiting room.  She watches long enough to see him enter the office. Dr. Lecter's voice, slightly startled: "Will?"

 She puts the note away and descends the stairs, carefully.  _At least I'm having a better day than him._

 

  
 Back at Uncle Stu and Aunt Didi's house, she waits till Grandpa is napping and Tommy and Dil are messing around in the kitchen, then closes herself in the downstairs bathroom.  She stares in the mirror.  No.  She still doesn't see it.  Not only does she still look awful, the longer she looks, the more unreal her own image seems.

 She's so absorbed that she doesn't notice the door opening.  "Oh! Um, sorry."  It's Tommy.  He turns to leave.

 "Hey, Tommy? Can I ask you something?"

 He turns back, one hand still on the doorknob. "You're not gonna clobber me, are you?" He looks scared.  It makes her stomach hurt. 

 "No.  I think I've given up clobbering people."  She sits down on the closed toilet lid.  "Tell me, really. _Do_ I look fat?"

 Tommy leans against the door frame.  He stares down at his feet, in their bright new sneakers. "No.  No, you don't. You never have."  His voice starts shaking.  "You know what you look like? You look really _sick_.  I didn't _really_ come in here by accident.  You were in here for so long, I thought you might be puking your guts out again - I might find you all covered in blood again and - "

 " _Tommy._ "  The lump in her throat is making her voice sound strange.  "I...didn't know all that upset you that much."

 "Well, it did! It still does! What do you take me for? I mean, we haven't always gotten along, I know we've always fought - a lot - but I never wished you'd _die!_ " He smiles, but it looks pained. "Well, maybe that time you held my hand in the anthill.  That was pretty rotten."

 "It was."  She forces herself to meet his gaze.  "Look.  You...saved my life.  You were the one who realized I was hurt in the first place and broke into that bathroom. I never thanked you."

 "S' okay."

 "No, I mean it."

 Tommy shrugs.  "Dil's making popcorn.  There's a vampire movie marathon on.  You wanna come?" 

 "Sure."

 Dil's voice, from down the hallway: "Tommy! I think it's on fire!"

 "Did you take the plastic wrap off?"

 "Plastic wrap? Uh-oh."

 "I better go help."  Tommy gives her a quick thumbs-up and runs back down the hall.

 She stops in the hallway and opens Dr. Lecter's note.  The picture of the woman on the table is folded inside it.

  
 _Vous et elle êtes tous les deux Tantalus, mais votre nourriture est à portée de la main. À cause de cela, je le rends, avec la prudence: essayez de vous concentrer sur la corne d'abondance, plutôt que le vide._

 It takes a little effort, but she figures it out: _You and she are both Tantalus, but your nourishment is within reach. Because of that, I return this, with the caution: try to concentrate on the cornucopia, rather than the emptiness._

  
 "Weird," she whispers.

 Later, though, sprawled on the living room floor, Tommy and Dil laughing on either side of her as the movie unfolds, she makes herself eat a few handfuls of popcorn.  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 

   
 

**Author's Note:**

> References to "All Grown Up!" episode "Rats Race".


End file.
